


Only His Touch

by fyreyantics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Choking, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, No Refractory Period, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyreyantics/pseuds/fyreyantics
Summary: With Peter tied up and blindfolded, Quentin decides to test Peter's limits.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Only His Touch

The car ride so far had been smooth and uneventful, and yet not quite comfortable. Blindfolded, Peter had been plunged into a realm of darkness with Quentin's hand his one trusted anchor to the physical world. 

He could feel the soft leather seat beneath him. He could estimate the space between himself and the glove box. He knew where the car door was and what it looked like but it all felt fragile; as though at any moment he could reach out and there would be nothing there. Peter hadn't realised how much he relied on his sight to get his grasp on reality.

He couldn't muster up a picture of the world outside - the heat from the sun warmed at his skin, so he knew it was sunny, but he couldn't tell what the street looked like. Peter fought hard to cling onto some kind of educated guess until his head began to ache from the effort. His attention shifted back to the larger hand on his. He squeezed, and felt comforted when Quentin squeezed back.

It could have been five minutes, or it could have been twenty, but eventually the car's tires hit gravel and slowed to a halt. Quentin's hand was gone and Peter searched to grab it back but found nothing. Instead he heard the car door open and Quentin's shoes crunch on gravel before the car door closed behind him. Peter turned to his left and sure enough Quentin had opened Peter's door and helped him to his feet. Peter stumbled and felt truly lost. He could be anywhere. He had no reference point. Anxiety spiked.

Peter didn't have permission to speak. Without it, Peter remained silent and instead of asking where they were, or what Quentin had planned, he simply raised his head and gave a quizzical look. Quentin tapped Peter's chin, Peter realising he wasn't quite facing the right way. He took Peter's hand.

"Come on," Quentin said softly and it was enough for Peter to relax. 

He let Quentin lead him. They walked at a slow pace, so Peter could keep taking his cautious steps. Whenever doubt bloomed in Peter's chest his mind went back to his physical link to Quentin. He didn't need to know where he was going; he just needed the feeling of skin against skin, the soft grasp, the way his hand engulfed his own, and the warmth that encased it.

They kept walking until the heat of the sun vanished - the sudden coolness bringing goose bumps to the surface of Peter's skin. A musty smell arose in Peter's nostrils and he frowned. Once again he wanted answers to questions he couldn't ask.

"Turn around," Quentin said, as he stopped.

Peter obeyed without hesitation.

"Sit."

Gingerly Peter felt behind him with his hands. They came into contact with something firm and springy. Peter came to the conclusion that it was either a mattress or a couch. He lowered himself onto it, only trusting it with his weight once he was sure it could take it.

"Take off your clothes."

Peter froze. The idea of getting naked somewhere he couldn't even see or envision sparked fear. He looked up for reassurance.

"Trust me, Peter. There's no one else for miles," Quentin said in a low voice. "I've made sure of that." 

Something in his tone had Peter not quite feel at ease but he trusted Quentin. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side before his fingers made short work of his belt. He took off his shoes and socks and pulled down his jeans. Peter's boxers came last, and he shivered as his whole body felt the cool temperature of the air around him. 

"Good boy," Quentin purred. "Now lie back."

Once again Peter felt behind him to make sure there was something there to take his weight. He laid down, still tense, and tensed a little further when Quentin tugged him by the arm further up. Something soft encased Peter's wrist and he felt a slight pull as Quentin tied him to something. A tingle of excitement coursed down his spine when he experimented with his range of movement and found it limited. Quentin tied up Peter's other wrist, Peter's arms stretched out. A ghost of a touch brushed over Peter's chest and Peter tipped up his head and relaxed into the mattress beneath. The tips of Quentin's fingers trailed down one leg before his hand wrapped partway round Peter's calf and slid down in a loose grasp.

It felt nice. It felt comfortable, and Peter didn't fight Quentin at all when he tied Peter's foot to the faraway corner of the bed. A soft touch to Peter's other foot reinforced the delicate titillating feeling and by the end of it, Quentin had Peter tied in with his hands and feet spread out at either ends of the bed.

Quentin didn't do anything for a moment - or at least from what Peter could tell, until he felt Quentin's large hands take a loose hold around Peter's neck.

"You look delectable," Quentin whispered into his ear. 

The warmth of his breath tickled Peter's skin. Peter's lips parted in a shaky gasp as Quentin moved his hand up and down Peter's outstretched neck. A jolt of arousal went through him, and he waited for Quentin to squeeze, to clench down until Peter was dizzy and needy. But he didn't. He simply kept up teasing strokes that weren't nearly enough, but at the same time were everything, and already Peter could feel his cock to stirring to attention. Quentin's hand then brushed south, stretching out to feel along Peter's collarbones, then curling up to run his nails ever-so-gently on his chest. Peter made a needy noise at the back of his throat.

"Shh, Peter, we've barely started. You're going to need to save your voice."

Peter could practically hear the smirk in Quentin's words and felt a slight surge of annoyance. It wasn't one of Quentin's most attractive traits - especially when he had reason to be smug, and Peter had a feeling he did.

Hand spread wide, Quentin continued to trail downwards. He traced the lines and dips of Peter's abs, the sensation gentle and relaxing, then headed south. Peter tensed in anticipation and wriggled when Quentin ducked to smooth over Peter's hip, avoiding the area Peter wanted him to touch most.

"Behave."

Peter pouted but stilled. Quentin's fingers then reached round to grasp at Peter's inner thigh. Peter drew in a long deep breath - he needed Quentin closer, but he just kept massaging at the sensitive part of Peter's thigh while Peter's cock twitched and bobbed in the open air. Peter was almost at his limit when Quentin stopped and moved his hand along the rest of Peter's leg.

The touches were bare and minimal but it was all Peter had - a pitch darkness and the smooth feeling of Quentin's hands against his skin. Even the world around him was uncharacteristically quiet - an empty void that was only filled by sounds of his own making, or the hypnotic voice of the man touching him.

"You're doing so well, Peter." 

Peter shivered, warmth of the praise washing over him. Feebly Peter tried to keep his hips from bucking up to get contact with anything - he was hard and ready. He arched his back and squirmed, whining and gasping when Quentin tickled just behind his balls.

"You're so desperate, aren't you?" 

Peter nodded enthusiastically.

A finger rubbed at the tip of Peter's cock, making Peter's whole body squirm. Peter curled his toes and moaned as Quentin dipped his finger into the slit, gathering up precome. Peter's head fell back and he shook. Quentin rubbed his wet finger in soft circles around the head in a touch both intense but not enough.

"You really are a good boy." Quentin's rubbed his hand over Peter's cock absent-mindedly. "Trying so hard to keep still. But you can't." 

Peter replied with a bitten-off moan. 

"Should I let you come?" Quentin asked, almost to himself, finally taking Peter's cock in hand. Starting slow, he gradually sped up, his grasp tightening. 

Peter didn't care how loud he was being - he was just so happy that Quentin was finally touching him properly, and Peter should have tried to hold it out but he wanted to come, and as it built and built it became harder to push back; that tight grip on his cock and that twist of the wrist on the upstroke - it was everything, and Peter didn't hold back, letting it all go as he reached the crest of his orgasm, spilling his come with a desperate moan.

Peter tried to catch his breath as he came back down. He basked in the afterglow, feeling it acutely throughout his body. It took him a moment, but he soon realised that Quentin wasn't making a move to untie him. In fact, Quentin was silent. He started to grow anxious.

Peter's breath hitched. With no warning, a thumb brushed over Peter's nipple. Fingers were rubbing at the hardened peaks, sending a fresh jolts of arousal through Peter's body. A nail softly grazed at one of them, the hint of pain making Peter gasp. Nails, rather than the pads of Quentin's fingers, played with Peter's nipples until Peter moaned at the touch, his cock rising up between his legs once more.

Quentin wrapped his hand around Peter's cock, jerking him off, while his fingers still played with Peter's nipples. Peter felt no control - he felt nothing but Quentin's hands, thought of nothing but the sensations that assaulted him, and let himself be led to another orgasm.

Peter's head fell back to the mattress, exhausted.

"Good boy. You can do another, right?"

Peter lay there, brain barely functioning. Then he felt Quentin's hand grasping at his throat.

He squeezed and it was so much more intense. Peter could feel his own heartbeat pulsing and he started to feel dizzy as Quentin squeezed harder. Peter arched his back and bucked his hips and didn't understand how he was getting hard again, but he was, and now Quentin was pumping Peter's cock while he was choking Peter out. His body tensed, the blood flow to his head diminishing and fuck, he was getting close already. He wished he could see Quentin's face. He moaned and twitched, whining and whimpering before Quentin loosened his grip and the endorphins flooded, drowning him in his orgasm hit, warm come spilling onto his stomach. Peter fell bonelessly into the mattress.

"Let's go again," Quentin murmured, and Peter opened his mouth to protest before remembering he didn't have permission to speak. He bit down on his lip, then cried out when Quentin kept his attentions to his cock. He pulled at the restraints - oversensitive and unable to distract himself from it. He whined and thrashed. 

"Shh, shh," Quentin murmured. "Easy." 

Peter hiccuped as tears burgeoned in his eyes. He couldn't - he just couldn't - but Quentin didn't stop, continuing to play at the oversensitive head of Peter's cock.

"One more time." 

Peter knew he was lying - Quentin would keep pushing until he decided it was enough. But Peter nodded all the same.

It barely took anything - just the sensation of Quentin's nails scraping against his inner thigh - and he was hard all over again. He was so tired, but Quentin had him coming again, and again, until only a pathetic amount dribbled from Peter's cock and he was left shaking and exhausted.

Tears streaked down his face. He panted, arms sore from struggling and body heavy from exhaustion. He didn't know if this was it - if this was over, and he swore he could feel the warmth from Quentin's hand before it even made contact with his skin.

"You're doing so well." Quentin's thumb collected up the tears that had slipped past Peter's blindfold. The simple touch was oddly calming, and when Quentin then placed his thumb against Peter's lips, he licked up his own tears. He took Quentin's thumb into his mouth, running his tongue against it and sucking.

"One more."

Peter couldn't find it in himself to protest, whimpering only when he felt Quentin run his large hand along the expanse of his neck once more. He never realised how sensitive it could be - how loud sensations could be in his mind.

"Keep sucking if you want." 

That sounded good to Peter, who cherished gentle relaxing taste and feel of Quentin in his mouth. Then Quentin flicked at Peter's nipple and Peter arched his back up, crying out and thrashing, yet somehow keeping his mouth fixed on Quentin's thumb. 

"Come on, Peter. You can do it."

Peter's head fell back and he cried behind the blindfold. He didn't even know how many times he'd come, only that he hated his refractory period at this point and how despite how much he didn't want it to his cock managed to get hard over and over again.

"I bet you can do it hands free. Don't you think, Peter?" 

Peter whined. He wanted it to be over, he wanted to stop crying, he wanted Quentin not to touch him when it felt like every nerve in his body was on fire. He bucked his hips, wanting to come fast but at the same time sobbing when Quentin scratched at his chest.

"You look so cute, covered in your own come, sucking my thumb like a desperate little slut. You wish it was my cock, don't you? Or is it enough for you to suck any part of me?" 

Peter moaned, his neck stretched out and his cock twitching.

"Come for me, Peter," Quentin growled. He removed his thumb from Peter's mouth. "Say my name."

"Q-Quentin -" Peter gasped.

His cock throbbed and with whatever willpower Peter had left he tried to focus on getting himself to come. He tensed and shook from the effort, clenching his body. Quentin squeezed slightly, making Peter curl his toes, and with a few pathetic thrusts into the air, spilled whatever small amount of come was left inside him.

"Please," Peter croaked, begging for it to end.

"Shh, it's over now. You were so good, Peter."

He swiftly released Peter of his bonds, and started to clean Peter up. Peter wriggled away from the touch and Quentin sighed. 

"I guess that'll do for now."

Peter didn't get up to move, instead he drew his limbs in closer, curling them towards himself until he was partway into a fetal position. He relaxed into the mattress, and drifted off to sleep before Quentin had a chance to remove the blindfold.

  
  


He woke underneath a big heavy duvet in a bed that smelled like gentle sandalwood and bergamot - exactly like Quentin. He buried his face in the pillow and breathed it in.

The sound of a cough came from nearby. Sitting up, Peter opened his eyes wide and found Quentin watching him with an amused grin and a glass of water.

"I wasn't - it was just -" 

Peter noticed the croakiness in his voice. His hand absentmindedly went to his throat and he remembered Quentin's hand sliding round it.

"Drink," Quentin said, offering the glass. Peter downed it, then settled back under the covers. He still felt so raw and aware of each small touch against his skin but the weight of the blanket steadied him.

"Have I tired you out this much?"

Peter responded with an indecipherable groan. He pulled the blanket further over him, obscuring the lower half of his face.

Quentin sat down on the bed beside him, looking as poised as ever.

"You did really well, Peter. I'm proud of you."

A warmth blossomed in Peter's chest. He shifted to lie on his side, facing Quentin, with his head peaking out from beneath the covers.

"Yeah?" Peter asked with wide, open eyes.

"Yeah."

Quentin's smile was soft and genuine, his blue eyes quietly affectionate. Peter returned the smile.

"Goodnight, Peter," were the last words Peter heard before he drifted back to sleep.


End file.
